


Blood Like Ice

by allisonmartined



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonmartined/pseuds/allisonmartined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over and over, they were reborn, remade, repackaged. And never could he forget the simple sting of her.</p><p> </p><p>A set of related drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Like Ice

She breathes in to the space between them, all her words getting stuck in her throat. His limbs are folded up, his eyes closed and he has never felt farther away from her. _Merlin?_ She chokes out. He shifts, his eyes opening. Her heart drops, her face pales. She can see it there in the depth of him.

 _It was supposed to be different this time,_ he breathes. It is only then that she sees the blood pooling around them, sees it on her hands. _But it wasn't supposed to be this._

 

She doesn't know how it happened, all the blood clouds her vision, and she can't remember.

 

+

 

 

 _Aren't you going to tell him_ she sneers. _Tell him what,_ he spits out with the kind of venom he knows only proves her point. She laughs. _That the Big Bad Wolf has come to play. And who is your Little Red, Morgana?_ he says absently. Why can't he find the weight of his soul? She leans in, steely seduction in her eyes. Fire and hatred bleeding from her pores.

 

 _Would you like to be my Red, Merlin,_ she purs, _Do you want me to eat you up?_

 

 

+

 

What was it they said about learning to ride a bike?

 

He never learned to ride a bike, he liked the earth beneath his feet, the crunch of the gravel beneath them.

 

Something about never forgetting how to, about it being in the muscles, always? That's the way it was with her.

 

Over and over, they were reborn, remade, repackaged. And never could he forget the simple sting of her. It was not a matter of him finding her or her finding him. There was never an if or a when. It happened every time.

 

Once, she was a friend, and another time his friend's wife, and another time the girl down the road. Once she was his boss and once she was his sister. (It was more complicated that time. The anger more heated, condensed, and the things beneath it taboo.)

 

But, this time, this time it is worse.

 

He can feel her in his blood, boiling. She runs her hand down his chest, the diamond adorning her left hand leaving marks along his skin. There is blood smeared across her shoulder, across her breasts. He shifts his weight, so that he can flip them over, his palms landing on either side of her.

 

She laughs, meniaclly, and the sound pierces something angry and dark in him.

 

They were married in October. He can't remember what it felt like then, he can only remember this. She is the ache in his soul, the tear in his lungs.

 

 _Have I won yet?_ She whispers into his ear. He answers with blood.

 

She's screaming at him, fire in her throat, lava tears melting her skin. _How could you,_ her words seem to say over and over, _How could you? How could I not_ , is all he thinks, icy words and icy veins.

 

It ends with a broken sob and she is gone and there is nothing left of him either.


End file.
